


Stripped

by hungryhippo_11



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 23:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1529342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungryhippo_11/pseuds/hungryhippo_11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester and Lorne have a little catch up. Uff da.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I don't ship these two at all. It's just...the idea entered my head and I couldn't get it out unless I wrote it up. So there.
> 
> 2\. I don't normally title a story after I've written it, but when I thought up the title and listened to this particular track, it was a perfect fit! Taken from the Depeche Mode song of the same name. Or Rammstein cover. Take your pick.
> 
> 3\. Pardon any non-Americanisms/Mid-Westernisms that might have snuck in there--I tried. And if it seems OOC, I'm sorry. Well kinda. Not really ;-)

In yet another non-descript hotel room, Lorne perches comfortably on his bed, listening to a tape. One of many tapes where the voices all have the same pleading tone, slightly higher than usual pitch, breathy with panic. Lonely, desperate, sickeningly normal people wanting help, salvation. And He was always there, in the right place at the right time, to give it to them.

Lester Nygaard wasn't meant to be any different. First play through seemed fine. Second time round though, it felt...strange. Like catching the smell of blood in the air. Over and over again, he'd Stop, Rewind, Play, until he could properly articulate what that mammalian part of his brain kept tingling his whole body with. The thrill of something unique. Better than opening up that package, with more fresh meat to be had. No, this was special.

Spoken between those words, in alliteration and form of cadence, wasn't just fear. It was sheer exhilaration.

This hypothesis needed to be tested.

\---------------------------

  
In a way it was risky kicks for both of them, meeting at the Lucky Penny, where Sam had met his end. Lester had wisely followed the instructions on the envelope addressed from 'Duluth' and arrived right at 10pm on the dot. Even wore a crisp white shirt, as if he were on a proper date. An hour in and he was already blushing drunk after four beers.

Meanwhile, Lorne smiled and sipped, nursing his second pint. Talk of fresh starts, almost Catholic reverence for his late wife, and brother who'd taken him in while the cops took over his house. The guy was a living wreck falling apart in all sorts of wonderful ways. Ripe for the picking.

"Hey Sugar, never seen you here before."

Unsighted, one of the strippers rounds the pair from behind. Lester catches the brunette standing right in front of him, her peachy skin glowing in florescent light. Young, edibly proportioned curves. Nice, perky breasts, not too large, not too small. Probably the right kind for someone in her line of work. Her finger levels his chin so he's nose-to-red-satin-coated nipple, and he swallows hard. "I...uh..."

"He's new. Been really down in the dumps since his wife died. Thought I'd take him out for a little cheerin' up."

Lorne raises his glass. With the merry clink of pints on the bar table, Lester glares. His mouth is a little circle of wonder that's startled when her body starts to close in on him, just enough for him to feel her heat through that fine layer of cotton between them. Her belly stud glints.

There's the predictable nature of human biology, watching that little chest of his puff up and his back straighten, pulling at the buttons down his centre to his trousers. No doubting the growing state of his erection. But it's the man's grip on his glass. Those tendons relaxed, steady in his arm. The oddly calm set of his jaw.

Lorne gulps down the rest of his beer. The thing is, Nygaard probably doesn't even realise himself how composed he truly is. Ready to take what he wants. Which is most intriguing. Mind over matter.

"Aw, I'm so sorry to hear that." She pouts on big blue doe eyes, brushing over his Adams apple while playing with his shirt collar. "Well, if cheerin' up is what you need, you've come to the right place."

He whimpers. Somehow, the scenario of an attractive half-naked woman soliciting him for sex hadn't occurred to him when he entered the room. "I'd...ah...really like that, but I'm a little short on--""

This time she places that finger squarely on his lips, and leans into his ear. Deals him a whisper which he can't quite believe, that makes him giggle like a reborn virgin. He peers at Lorne again for answers. Lorne simply shrugs.

"You're not seriously gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, are you Lester?"

\----------------------------

  
There's only so many times one can spend in hotels alone, jacking off to late night porn on cable. Those people are all way too experienced. So practised it becomes routine, ordinary. You can see it, dead in their eyes as they fake cumming, as if they're doing a set of laundry in the morning. Dragging it out to the clothes horse. Plucking at a basket of pegs to hang each piece up, dripping wet.

In a distant corner of the room, Lorne is sprawled comfortably in his chair, fly split wide open. Although the damp is spreading across his underwear front, he hasn't properly touched himself yet. This is art he's carefully orchestrated here--that he wants to appraise, take in all those tiny, mundane details porn films have long forgotten about.

This also happened to be one of the most glorious blow-jobs he had the privilege of witnessing--live or filmed.

They'd been at this for almost half an hour. Down on her knees, Dee (she'd introduced herself earlier) had slowly worked Lester up twice, and he was blue-ballin', barely able to hold himself up against the wall, pants a mess at his ankles. Frankly, it was a marvel of human stamina that the guy hadn't blown his load already.

More amazing still was the look on Lester's sweaty face, which he wiped at with a flap of his unbuttoned shirt sleeve. He was loving every single minute of this.

"You know," he puffed, stroking her head affectionately, "I used to get called 'pencil dick' in high school."

Holding said dick in her grasp, her mouth poised at his head, almost purple and swollen shiny from her handiwork, she smirked. "Whoever called you that clearly had no clue what they were talkin' about."

"Well, he's dead now." He drew a sharp intake of breath and tugged at her as she took him in again, smothering his slit with her tongue. "He was murdered here. Knife in the head, I heard."

However drunk he was, that was pretty audacious, deliberately poking at the bear the way he did. Eyeing off Lorne with a cold gleam as he spoke. This was the man who'd said 'yes' all along. Finally beginning to realise himself.

It was a beautiful sight. Then there was the rhythmic bob of her head. The slight gargle she made when his cock hit the back of her throat. Slipping a hand underneath his boxers, Lorne took hold of his prick, started up a slow pump. Lester spotted what he was doing, and it was a cruelty all its own, watching him take his sweet time licking his lips.

Goddamn tease. He wasn't supposed to be _this_ turned on.

"That Hess fella ya mean?" Dee licked a decent stripe up the length of his shaft. "Knowing how he used to treat the gals here, asshole had it comin' to him."

Lester released the grip on her scalp, permitting her to kneel back up. At full height, she towered over him. Those black stiletto heels looked positively lethal. Yet he didn't cower and shrink from her. His stance held firm, asserting its own space, posture upright, but relaxed.

"Sure did."

This most definitely wasn't the same man he'd met back at the diner--meek, stuttering, and wracked with self-doubt. Since his dealings away in Duluth, Lester seemed to have fashioned himself a backbone.

Dee gave in, braced by her shoulders to be backed against the wall. He cupped her neck, shaping to the sides of her face.

"Tell me a story, Lester. Whatcha gonna do to me?"

"Um..." He peered at the ceiling for a brief moment. "I'm a show rather than tell kinda guy."

She's surprised by the punch of his kiss, scrambling to strip each other of whatever clothes they had left on. His wife beater proved especially stubborn to pull from his head, his salt-and-peppery hair emerging a fine scruffy mess. It made her chuckle, palms softly spanning his pectorals out to his shoulders. Cobalt blue taloned fingers which followed the curve and dip of his biceps. Trailed the length of his arms down to that prime ass of hers. He'd grabbed hold of her there, squeezing the flesh, and she's humming as he rounds the undersides of her thighs. Picks her up. Her legs wrap around his waist, binding them tight.

Two people thrumming, intense with the need to please. Lorne thought they might be a good match. Dee thought so too. An easy, painless way to pay back the favour she owed him.

Lester's jaw is slack, lips swollen deep pink, shifting himself so their groins slot into place. Instantly she reacts by grinding into him and he shuts his eyes, breaths out a "jeez". Feels her out for her opening.

He takes hold of his cock. And sink-sink-sinks.

They slowly built a rhythm. Dee gasped as he necked her, hands curling at the back of his neck, digging into the small of his back. In the meantime, he's got a handful of her breasts, enjoying the contrast between smooth flesh and her nipples hardening in the middle of his palms.

"My wife, she wouldn't even look at me while we..."

Dee looks him straight in the eye. "Well, she's dead now," she pants.

Pressure builds with the rippled push and pull of foreskin at his tip. Lorne is close now. That moment which distorts Lester's features. He lets out a strangled sort of laugh.

Lorne groans out his orgasm, vision flashed out white for a few moments. He blinks. At his lap, hot cum smothers his hand and cock. There it is: Mission Accomplished.

Meanwhile, completely oblivious to him, Lester and Dee are still at it. His thrusts slam her back into the wall, again and again. She's howling, clawing for him, deeper, harder, faster. What all women seem to want. Her voice is left hoarse, ragged with exasperation before Lester's fingers dip between her legs, coax at her clit. The whole town probably heard her when she finally climaxed with him.

It's a convenient opportunity for him to head to the bathroom and clean himself up. While washing up at the basin, he spies his reflection.

Those tapes. Where all the voices are meant to sound the same. Voices just like Dee's. Not quite like Lester's.

The guy had waited. Deliberately withheld pleasure until the pitch of her voice rose. When her desperation had hit its peak, and she'd been left begging. Then, and only then, he acted.

_Pleasure...or salvation?_

Lorne smiled.


End file.
